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Vignettes of Sweetwater
'Amandil Lissenen Cormas Tel'raa - Vignettes of Sweetwater' The Tears of Selûne are even brighter than usual tonight, or so it seems to me as I lie face up on the soft spring grass. I can see the sky through the eye slits of my helmet. The crescent moon dances with the stars, wavering in the reflections of my tears as I bleed out. I could stop the bleeding, but to what purpose? My fathers body is under my gauntleted fist, the one clutching my mace. My mothers body is beneath the sinister gauntlet that clutches my shield. The corpse of a long-time friend of my family lies somewhere near my head. The body of the man I wanted to marry, my love, is at my splayed feet, his head crushed like a melon. His blood and brains splattered upon my helm, shield, greaves and boots. I close my eyes to the sky, wishing to visit the past as my lifes blood flows and carries me on its waves to the headwaters of Lethe. I feel no pain and part of my mind whispers of shock as I drift to the days before the deaths of my parents. * I am seated on a mounting block watching my father and mother sparring on the practice field. I watch for moves and tactics that they may have yet to teach me. My father is amazingly strong for a Half-Elf. Flame seems to flicker in his arm hairs, hard muscles gleam with sweat and sunlight where his Haubergon does not cover him. He crouches behind his wooden shield and awaits an opening for his club as my mother rains blows down and around his defenses. Sometimes it seems that he barely moves as his emerald eyes watch her deep violet eyes rather than her sword and shield for clues as to what she will do next. Her broadsword has been replaced by a padded wooden sword so as to minimize injury in practice. My mother is lithe and graceful, wisps of her pale gold hair seek to escape the confines of her chainmail coif. She is not nearly so strong as my sire, but she is comparable to lightening as she strikes repeatedly, seeking a gap through his defenses. They are like the wings of a bird, a match for one another in every way. They have their differences but the balance they provide for each other allows the souls of this bonded pair to fly. We are Half-Elves. I know little of the backgrounds of my parents. They simply do not speak of their pasts, other than to occasionally talk of their meeting and wooing of one another in the city of Vastonia. Even then, it is when they think me asleep that they reminisce, cuddled close by the fire of our hearth, sipping fey wine and chortling softly as they speak of the sparks that flew between them in that city to the north and east of where we now reside. We live and work within the fortified Villa of a minor aristocrat, Lord Jarls Lyons. The Villa is nestled between the Cloven Mountains and The Winterwood. I have yet to find this Villa or the town just west of it on any map. I can locate other landmarks that are relatively nearby. Nimpeth, which sits on the shore of Vilhon Reach and the mouth of Nagaflow is slightly North and East. Fort Arran is directly East of us as the crow flies. My father is Captain of the Guards at the Villa, my mother is a Cleric of Harmony. She cares for the sick and injured inhabitants within the Villa, whether they are his relatives or in the employ of the Lord. Unofficially she also tends to the inhabitants of the area just outside the Villa. Farmers, herdsmen, hunters and the inhabitants of the village we laughingly call Noname, all depend upon my very busy mother. For now anyway, my status as an employed adult at the Villa is uncertain. As a child I once dreamt vague dreams of becoming a powerful Wizard or Sorceress. However, after consulting with the minor users of Magic that were employed by Lord Lyons, it became apparent that my talents would be rather limited as such. Children dream of being great at something, heroic sagas play out in their heads with them in the lead role. The idea of being a mediocre mage just did not inspire me. My parents had been training me to fight in battle since I was very small, but as I grew older it became clear that while I might be adequate as a fighter, able to fight off the average mugger or bandit, I would never be an epic warrior. I worship Harmony at my mothers side. I admire what He stands for and respect Him greatly, but somehow I have never been inspired to be a Cleric. All that blood and vomit that goes with the territory... oh yuck! I am useful as my mothers assistant, so I receive a small stipend from the Lord of the Villa. I assist my mother in the chapel provided by Harmony through Lord Lyons and then make the rounds outside the Villa with my mother, assisting her while trying to turn my head away from the nauseating wounds and symptoms of disease. She forces me to look at the patients, saying that I cannot learn what a thing is if I refuse to look closely at it and see it for what it is. I notice movement at the edge of my vision and turn to look. I see Sir Lyons son, Alan. I wave cheerfully and rise up to go to him. Alan is so handsome it makes my heart nigh burst from my ribcage when he smiles at me. He is tall, lean, and his eyes are a light blue that contrast nicely with his nut-brown skin and raven black hair. He rides and falcons often, and trains as a swordsman with all of the guardsmen including my parents, so he is trim and fit. We flirt whenever we can get away with it. As soon as I rise and go towards Alan, my parents break off practice and go to the trough to sluice the sweat from their arms and faces. It won't be long before they join Alan and I in conversation. Most people my age would resent their being so protective of me. I don't mind really, it is obvious that Alan would pressure me for more than a few kisses if my parents didn't make it known that they are persistent as guardians of my virtue. He asks me to dance at all the festivals and parties that we can both attend. He whispers endearments as we dance, and at the first opportunity he whirls me towards the nearest alcove or stand of trees and then kisses me until I am breathless; all the while edging me further into the darkness. After perhaps ten minutes one of my parents always shows up. Pleasantries are exchanged as I straighten my rumpled clothing and try to face in a direction that does not allow my parent to see how flushed I am ... but I am sure my breathing is noted. In a way it is a game. I have made it clear that I want to bond with Alan, all he need do is ask. The only tension is when my parents point out that Alan would never marry a Half-Elf. I then say: “Your father and mother defied society, why cannot Alan and I do so?” And they turn away glowering but silent on the subject. Sometimes I wish they would argue further. I have questioned them so often about their ancestries, their pasts, but they always glide out of the conversation. I am in love with Alan and am certain that he loves me. If he were of a higher rank my parents would be all too correct that our situation is hopeless, but I think we shall one day have the cords tied, our wrists binding us together as mates. * My eyes are open again. A shadow is between myself and the starlit sky ... I think: “Odd, I can still see the Crescent moon, but there are no stars around it. It is as if there were a wide area with no stars near the moon.” I feel a soft breeze on my face, ruffling my hair. Someone has removed my helm. I close my eyes and drift away once more... * My parents are packed and mounted, I am begging to go with them. My mother is saying: “No! You are not experienced enough and there have been reports of brigands en route. You have the skills to take care of any small medical emergency here. We have arranged for Old Marguery to assist you and watch over you while we are gone. Lord Lyons has commanded we escort him to Fort Arran. He is not saying what the rush is and we have tried to find out. Your father and I are mistrustful of the situation, so we have all the more reason not to take you with us. We are taking messenger pigeons with us. I requested family appointed as well as military birds, so we can let you know we are all right or if there will be any changes in our route or the time of our return. Now be a good woman and stay away from Alan while we are gone.” Old Marguery once traveled with my parents, adventuring with them until they settled here at the Lyons Villa. He is not only significantly older than they in chronology, but he is human, so he is showing definite signs of the terrible things age can do. He has too much belly and too little muscle. These from too much sitting and swigging ale. When we were both younger, I used to sit on what was left of his lap and try to pry information from him as to my parents past. With his graying head bent towards mine, silver threads would twine with my flaming red, and he was more than willing to speak of adventures while traveling. But whenever I tried to ask anything of my parents history beyond those adventures, such as their ancestry or where they hailed from, he would ignore my queries, set me on my feet and encourage me to go feed the ducks and swans in the villa pond. * I am back in the grove. I am muttering: “...the moon is too large, and there are no stars, no stars...” The wind seems to be whispering to me, but I ignore it and struggle back to the river of the dead... * I am on one of the rooftops of the Villa. The Animal Handler for Lord Lyons has summoned me there. A pigeon has arrived with a note from my parents. I unroll a slip of paper so small and so thin it is almost transparent. It is covered on one side with fine script in my mothers handwriting, the ink has bled through to the other side because of the thinness of the paper fiber. I read: “Brigand attack. Horses dead. Bring mounts and guardsmen to Skull Rock near Ardins Grove.” I show it to Marguery and ask in a frightened voice: “Why would they send this to me? Why not send the military pigeons?” He answers: “Mayhap they sent several birds. If someone is shooting arrows at the wee winged ones, your folks will be wanting as many chances for the birds get through as possible.” My heart is pounding as I pocket the slip and rush to Alans quarters. Old Marguery is having a problem keeping up with me, hobbling on one leg, belly bouncing. Along the way to Alans, I see one of the soldiers practicing in the yard. I run to him and inform him of the pigeons arrival and the message borne by it. I tell him to gather as many men as the Villa can spare and saddle horses to ride. He looks at me as if I have lost my mind. “We need the command of Lord Lyons or Alan before we take any more men out of this Villa. I'm not taking orders from a Half-Elven whelp, and I doubt that any other of us will either. Besides, Lord Lyons isn't due back for at least another fortnight, this could be some sort of ruse to get our soldiers out and away while bandits loot the Villa.” I don't have time to argue with the fool and hurry on. Alan isn't in his quarters. His mans man tells me that Alan is out Falconing. He turns to Alans bedroom, a load of clean linen shirts in his arms and says: “You may see yourselves out.” I am trying to still the panic within me. Marguery is suggesting that we see who else might be available among the guardsmen as I notice an inkstand and quill on Alans secretary. There may not be time for me to go from officer to officer begging assistance while my parents might still be pinned and fighting for their lives. I need to write a note for Alan, tell him the situation and ask him to follow me with guardsmen to Skull Rock. I open a drawer, looking for some stationary. There doesn't seem to be any. I look in the wastebasket and see some crumpled papers. I can smooth one out and use the back to leave a note for Alan. I select one, begin to unwad it and then pause, unbelieving of what I am reading. It appears to be a practice run for a missive. Words and sentences crossed out and rewritten elsewhere. I look at the wastebasket and select another wad of stationary. The words and structure of the sentences are less mutilated. This is probably the last practice run. I read between the strike outs: “I have arranged for my father to travel to Fort Arran, you may do with him as we discussed. Kill those two Half-Elves for me also, will you? They are such an inconvenience. There will be a bonus for you and not only in gold. You might remember the Half-Elves daughter Lissenen, that luscious redhead I allowed you to dance with at the celebration of Flamerule? I want her for my mistress but her parents block my every move; they are so watchful over her. If you do this small favor for me, I shall pass Lissenen on to you when I tire of her, as I am sure I will. She is lovely but far too biddable for my taste. Besides, a half-breed is for bedding, not wedding.” The missive goes on to describe the probable route Lord Lyons and his guardsmen will be taking, both to and from the Fort, along with the ways the party might send for assistance when they are attacked. The letter has neither greeting line nor signature, so I have no idea who it might have been sent to, but the hand-writing is that of my beloved Alan. I have seen it many times in notes urging me to meet him alone in the moons light. I am stunned for a few minutes. My mind finally returns and I look at Marguery. “The danger to the pigeons was not only arrows, but falcons also.” I show the old man the note and his gnarled hands shake with anger. I wad up the one copy and throw it back in the wastebasket, tucking the other into my pocket and heading for the door. “We can't trust anyone.” Marguery protests that we will need all the help we can get. I repeat myself, adding: “No disrespect Marguery, but I am not even certain of you.” He hurrumphed a few times as I began to pick up speed. “We need our arms and armor, then to the stables we go!” * I am back in the night. Someone with gentle hands is urging me to sit up... I am crying hard now. “We were too late! Too late! There was naught left to do but find a burial site. I was not going to let them be buried in or even near the Villa of such a treacherous man!” A gentle voice, like the wind: “Yes, I know.” * We buried them in the grove using camping shovels. Marguery with his sword sheathed and myself with my mace clipped to my baldric. Except for our helms, we did not remove any of our armor or weapons as we dug the grave, knowing that whoever had done this thing might return. As gently as possible we placed my parents side by side. I positioned their stiffening palms together, bent the fingers so that they would clasp hands until all evidence that they had ever existed was gone. The sun slowly sank over the horizon as we labored to refill the grave. We were replacing the sod when Alan rode up. He flung himself dramatically from his saddle and walked towards me. “My darling Lissenen! You're all right? My mans man said that you had come looking for me. I asked around for you and the stable hands said you had saddled four horses and headed east with Old Marguery. We found the bodies of the escort and of my poor father, but you and your parents were missing. I had my men go search for the brigands who did this terrible thing and then I followed your trail here.” He reached for me as if to enfold me in his arms. I pulled away and picked up my helm that was on the stone Marguery and I had planned to carve my parents names into. “Is this the point where I am supposed to fall into your arms sobbing and seeking comfort from you?” I asked Alan as I donned the helm and pulled the visor down over my eyes, as Old Marguery quietly edged his way past Alan and then towards Alans back. In a surprisingly cheerful voice, Alan said: “I was afraid you had checked the wastebasket. Damn my mans man for a sloven anyway!” I drew my mace and he laughed. “Lissenen, I have seen you fight. You are well trained, but you have neither the speed nor the strength to best me. Put your weapon away and let's reason this out.” He whirled as he heard the snick of Old Marguerys blade sliding out of its sheath, the Old Rogue had failed to oil either sheath or sword for some time. Alan drew his sword as he turned, keeping the both of us in his sight. Old Marguery had once been a fine warrior, some say rogue, but he was much too old for this confrontation. Whatever strength he had once had was far less now, though his speed was still surprisingly good. Yet Alan dodged Marguerys sword and sent his own shining blade through Marguerys eye in a heartbeat while blocking my blow with his shield. Alans shining sword seemed to moan in pleasure. Surely that moan was my imagination, I thought as I swung my mace. Jerking his blade from the interior of the falling Marguerys skull, Alan whirled to catch my mace with his shield up. He smiled an evil smile and said: “Do you really want to die so young? I can have your memory altered. You can live an enjoyable life, forgetting all about this unpleasantness. It is unlikely that you will find a better place in life than that of my lover. You are the child of two illegitimate Half Elves. One half Grey, the other half Sylvan, Wood, Wild or whatever label you like, mixed with human blood... you will be seen as horribly tainted by all three or four races. I can give you comfort and wealth.” I swung at him and he blocked me once more, then sliced in towards my throat, I jumped back and the fight went on. I don't know how long the fight lasted. I think he was toying with me and that blade must have had several magics on it. My chainmail was being opened up in places like a doily while I bled here and there. Not only was I tiring despite my youth and general good health, but my wounds were many, though none were severe enough as yet to kill me, I was slowly loosing a lot of blood. My mothers God was Harmony, if I was going to call out for assistance from any God or Goddess it should have been Her. I was circling Alan, slightly crouched and breathing hard. Over Alans shoulder I saw the crescent moon was rising majestically, silvering the Lapis lazuli colored sky to the east as the sun winked goodbye to the west. The Tears of Selûne shone brightly, trailing that lovely moon. For a moment I almost cried out to the Moon Goddess, Selûne, but the name that came to my lips was Steiner. I felt such a surge of strength and well-being I almost stood straight. If I had I would have died then. I also felt as if I could move faster than even my mother. It was as though Alan were moving slowly through clear molasses or honey. I had the time to think it all through, choose my target, sidle to my left, then strike down over his shield while jumping at least three feet from the ground. Alan must have seen it coming. His eyes widened so that they seemed twice their normal size, his mouth dropping open in a scream that did not have time to leave his mouth. There was a short, satisfying ring of sound in the air, like a bell. And then the crunch of his skull shattering. Blood and brains spattered over me as my feet seemed to drift back to the ground. The copper and iron smell of blood was a miasma in the air. I clipped the loop on the handle of my mace to my belt and then picked up the gore spattered sword Alan had wielded. The feel of it was like the sting of an adder along with an emotional frisson of horror and I dropped it immediately. I fell back, jerking my mace from its clip and for a moment I returned to battle stance. But there was nothing more to fight. I felt that wonderful strength that had imbued me leave and I collapsed. * When I awoke, I thought I could hear the wind whispering as the Crescent moon sailed towards the west, The Tears of Selûne trailing it: “Change your name, Lyons heart. You are now my Cleric, though Harmony and at least one other have agreed to also watch over you. Seek your inheritance...” * The ship approaches the harbor of Vastonia. I vomit over the railings once again, then turn towards my small cabin to retrieve my meager belongings and the journal that I began after that mournful day. I thought at first to sell Alans evil sword along with the horses ridden out from Lord Lyons Villa in one of the cities along my route east. I had not wanted to go directly to Vastonia as I was worried that the person hired by Alan to kill my parents and Lord Lyons might take an unhealthy interest in my whereabouts. But the sword was difficult to travel with. It haunted my dreams, singing of its needs. Alans evil sword was thrown off the ship midway here. May it and Alan rot. May Alan forever rot. All the way to Vastonia I have racked my brain, seeking the face of a man who danced with me with Alans “permission". So many blurs, a few who were strangers to me, but it would not have had to be a stranger. So. What is this “inheritance” the wind whispered of that moonlit night, other than a boatload of trouble? What do I really know of my parents past? I am not even certain of their true names. Once I heard my father call her “Princess” during an argument. My mother tore into him: “You know full well that the illegitimate child is no princess even were she full blood...” At that point my father snapped: “Lissenen is in the next room!” Mother was probably of Gray Elf descent: Pale gold hair and violet eyes. Father of Sylvan or Wood Elf bloodlines with his copper hair and green eyes. I must close and stow this journal that was begun in my mothers handwriting in my pack. A great many names have been underlined by me between bouts of sea sickness. City names? Place names? Island names? Castle, mansion and palace names? Names that make me wonder if they are those of people, guilds or that of a new and ... to me, strange, pantheon? Names that echo with familiarity... names that are exotic to me. Vastonia, Geiran, Tavaria, Calimport. Dulinaur Rondasse, Menelvagor Rondasse, Dagredhel Rondasse, Erúme Víre Rondasse, Lóte Verca Rondasse... Ráca Maren, Rávalapsë, Dragon Ridge. Harmony, Steiner, H'Lal, Shialia... ... like a Mantra, the names echo in my mind. Names like short shining threads to be unraveled and examined again. Only to be rewoven over and over beneath my minds eye... This I shall do until I fully understand the weave that will make me whole again. Dulinaur. Firebird... the Elven word for “Phoenix”... a good sign? Dagredhel... so many ways to translate that one. Battle Elf, Dagredhel – Battle Elf or Elf of Battle, could also be translated as “Sword (from a) tree”...“Dagr” stood for “sword” and “edhel” for “tree” ... Rondasse... castle. I giggle as I translate Rávalapsë ... Hummm... I like the Desert Rose and Wildflower names... Or perhaps I shall take a “Human” or “Common” name. I finally decide that the one that now suits me most is... * The ship is docking as the rats with wings circle around it seeking the leavings of rubbish in this so foreign harbor. Almost as foreign to me as my new name. Jeanie D'Jinni – Diagonally parked in your parallel universe. Sweet water and light laughter till next we meet - Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva Your heart is that of the lion - Cormlle naa tanya tel'raa Priest - Amandil Finished? Sunday May 28, 2006 N. J. W. - a.k.a - Jeanie D'Jinni Edited for Eternal Destiny February 02, 2009